


Peppermint Tea

by sidium



Series: Puppy Love [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Getting Together, Hangover, Misunderstandings, The puppy is back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidium/pseuds/sidium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this is the sequel to "Darcy's Bad Day..." 
> 
> You're probably going to want to go read that first. Or not. Your choice.

Darcy has woken up in some weird places in her life. High school was a great time of stolen liquor and bad choices. She has, at some point in her life, woken up in guy’s beds, girl’s beds, sofas, a hospital, a couple cars and a petting zoo. Don’t ask about that last one, okay? So, on the bright side, this is definitely familiar territory she’s in right now, and it’s more pleasant than a hospital or sidewalk. Or fricking petting zoo. On the not-so-bright side, she doesn’t _actually_ know where she is. Just that it’s a soft warm bed.

You know, this is why she quit drinking so much before she even got to college. What the fuck.

She sits up slowly, groaning at the ache in her head spiraling down her chest and upsetting her stomach even more. She rests her elbows on her knees and cradles her head in her hands. This is bad. See, along with the drinking, which she got a reputation for, she might’ve also gotten a reputation for... other things. The whole waking-up-in-other-people’s-beds thing. Maybe, _maybe_ she’d been labeled a slut. And fine, okay, she was labeled a slut, alright? But it was her life and her choices and fuck people who judge other people.

Except right now, no one is judging her but herself. And maybe whoever’s bed this is. It smells vaguely familiar, which means she knows the person she slept with, which is good and so very very bad. If Bruce finds out, he’s gonna think she’s a whore that  just sleeps around, although he’ll be too nice to admit it and then she’ll never have a chance with him. Not like she ever freaking did before, but who wants to watch a dream die?

Well, at least she’s got her own clothes on, she thinks, looking down at her t-shirt and sweats.

Wait. No.

These aren’t her clothes. A little movement informs her these clothes are just a little too be to actually be hers (although it’s cool to wear someone else’s clothes that don’t strain under the awesomeness of her boobs). Unfortunately, the generic basicness of them don’t lend any hint as to who’s they actually are. A small part of her hopes that, if she’s got clothes on, maybe her others came off in a totally innocent way. The cynical part of her, which is much larger than the hopeful part, tells her she’s not that lucky.

Finally, she gets the brilliant idea _to look around the room._ It’s clean, the biggest mess in the room are the pile of clothes on the floor next to the desk, which she just knows are hers. Books are arranged carefully on a bookcase, if she were more awake, more coherent and less hung-over she might be able to read the titles. As it is, she glances around, taking in the sparseness of any personality in the room and scores it as a win that there’s no drug paraphernalia or rotting food lying around. So this was an above average experience, so far.

She carefully, oh so carefully, puts her legs over the side of the bed, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. She can stand, she knows she can, she just has to open her eyes and just- oh, hey, look. Aspirin. Someone actually left her aspirin and water on the nightstand. Who the fuck is this person and how did they get so awesome? Hopefully she didn’t puke on them the night before. That always puts people in a bad mood.

She’s starting to feel mildly creeped out about this whole situation, so downing the aspiring and bracing herself for an emergency run to the adjoining bathroom, she stands. She sways a little, but, she thinks triumphantly, she’s still standing. Win.

She carefully walks out of the bedroom, opening the door and stepping into a spacious living room. Where Bruce is watching a sci-fi flick she’s never seen before.

Bruce.

Bruce Banner.

Oh. Holy. Shit.

They didn’t. But she’s wearing... and that was his...

He hears her open the door and he turns, leaning his head on the back of the sofa “Hey, sleepyhead.” He says teasingly, and she fights down the butterflies that make her stomach churn more.

“What happened?” She asks, her voice pathetically hoarse and groggy and she winces at the sound. She braces herself for the answer she really doesn’t want to hear.

“You got drunk off your ass complaining about your date standing you up.” He says, gesturing for her to come sit down, which she does, dreading the rest of his explanation, “We got a cab, but you couldn’t tell me where you lived, so I brought you back here so you could sleep it off. I would’ve put you in a guest room, but I wanted to keep an eye on you, in case anything happened.”

“We didn’t...?” She asks, trailing off, unable to ask the actual question and not believing her luck.

“No. I slept on the couch.” He says, gesturing to the pillow and blanket folded up neatly on the floor next to the sofa. “Your honor is perfectly intact.” he says, raising his hands up in a surrendering gesture and he chuckles when she scoffs at him.

“Yeah, that was gone... long ago.” She says, running her fingers through her wreck of hair and squeezing her eyes shut as a character on screen screams and her headache flares. He grabs the remote and turns the volume down a few notches.

“Thank you.” She says, quietly, opening her eyes and asking the final dreaded question, “So if we didn’t do anything, why am I wearing your clothes?”

“Did you really want to sleep in what you were wearing last night?” He asks, pointedly.

“Depends, what was I wearing?” She says with a shit-eating, yet self-deprecating grin. She truly is not sure what clothes she had on when they apparently started drinking.

“Tight top, short skirt.” He says, vaguely. Such a guy, she thinks to herself. That’s probably all he can honestly remember.

“Alright, touche.” She says, ‘cause yeah, even with just a simple description she knows that would’ve been sucky to sleep in. “Thank you.” She says, quietly.

“You’re welcome.” He replies easily,  like it’s the most normal thing in the world to have a girl pass out in your bed and you sleep on the couch.

She opened her mouth to speak but before she got the words out, a spike of pain split across her head as a high pitched beeping noise emanated from the floor, following by much loud shouting.

“What the fuck is that?” She asks, holding her head and scrunching her eyes shut. Bruce heaves a big sigh and shuts the TV off.

“Clint’s making breakfast.” Bruce says, sounding mock-amused, “He does this about three times a week now. Someone needs to take that guy to a cooking class.” He stands up and offers her a hand, “Wanna go investigate? Sounds like everyone else is down there, too.

The beeping finally stops, and the shouting ceases a moment later. Darcy takes his hand and stands up, “Sure, why not?”

\---

Darcy nearly keels over when the elevator doors open, and the stench of smoke his her nostrils. Her stomach churns and she instinctively grips Bruce’s arm, all concern for personal space gone. What the fuck did Clint burn? The souls of small children? She takes a deep breath to steady herself and Bruce chuckles.

“You’re gonna be fine.” He says, watching her straighten up, and they step into the living room.

The smell gets worse the closer to the kitchen they get, and upon arriving, they see everyone really is there, except for Steve. Tony and Clint are attempting to salvage the remaining food that isn’t already burnt to hell and Darcy spots the burned pile of mess on the counter, which she realizes was once supposed to be waffles. Natasha is sitting at the table, quietly reading a book, seeming to be completely lost in her own world; despite the bickering going on between the cooks, and Darcy is vaguely jealous of that ability. Thor is drinking coffee and watching them cook like a favorite TV show.

They’re almost done, the pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon piled high on plates.

“Hey, guys.” Bruce says, stepping into the kitchen and pouring two cups of coffee.

“Hello, sleepyhead,” Tony says, scooping pancake batter onto the pan, “Where have you been? We were starting to think you weren’t gonna show. I was even-” at that moment, Tony looked up and spotted Darcy standing in the doorway. A lewd grin spread across his face and Darcy’s stomach cramped again in dread of whatever was about to come out of his mouth.

“Bruce,” He asks, with a falsely sweet yet suspicious tone, “Why is Darcy wearing your clothes?” Clint gave a mock-gasp of shock and then a loud wolf-whistle that made Darcy’s head feel like someone had shoved a railroad spike through it.

“Ugh, fuck both of you.” She says, collapsing at the table and accepting the coffee cup from Bruce.

“Ooh, trying to make your way through the group?” Clint asks, and Tony cackles in approval. Thor looks mildly confused, but refrains from saying anything.

“Hey, knock it off.” Bruce says, smacking Clint across the back of the head. “Nothing happened.”

“Then explain the clothes,”  Tony says, dishing out the last of the pancakes and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at Bruce.

“She was drunk, I let her pass out at my place so I could keep an eye on her, and I gave her my clothes because, unlike you two leches,” He says, picking up two plates, “I’m a gentleman.

“Ooh, burn.” Clint remarks, putting the empty egg pan in the sink.

“Where’s Steve?” Bruce asks, setting one plate down in front of Darcy and sitting down next to her.

“Dunno. Sent Jane to go get him, but that was like, what, twenty minutes ago?” Tony says, passing out plates to everyone else.

“And you’re not questioning _her_ virtue?” Darcy asks, glaring up at him from her plate.

“Who says I’m not?” Tony asks, raising an eyebrow and sitting down at the table.

“No one’s virtue is being questioned. No one is doing anything with anyone.” Bruce says, and then, with a pointed look at Tony, “So let it go.”

“If you insist.” Tony says shrugging. Clint sits down with a conspiratory laugh, “No deal. Material’s too good.”

Without looking up from her book, Natasha takes a bite of bacon with one hand and, with her other hand, grabs Clint by the ear and Darcy can’t help but laugh at how his eyes widen when she starts to twist.

“On second thought,” Clint says quickly, “I’m sorry, you’re a lovely person and I’m sure your activities were entirely chaste. Ow. In fact, I’m positive of it. You’re as pure as a the driven snow. We’re all quite proud.” Natasha doesn’t let go, and twists just a little more, “Ow, ow, ow. I already apologized; let me go, woman!” Clint demands in a mock-stern tone. Darcy sees her give his ear one last turn before letting go.

Just then, Steve and Jane came in, talking and laughing, making cooing noises.

“What the hell is that?” Tony asks, as they come into the kitchen.

“It’s a puppy!” Jane says, excitedly. She takes the fluffy yellow, furball out of Steve’s arms and holds him up for everyone to see. Darcy stares. It looks kinda like a golden retriever mixed with who-the-hell knows. Why does the scrawny little beast look familiar? “We took him for a walk.”

“Where’d you get the leash?” Clint says, raising an eyebrow.

“Store on the corner,” Steve answers, setting said leash on the counter and crossing his arms. “For the record, Clint, if you’re gonna drop random pets off on my floor, fine, but could you wait and do it when I’m awake?”

“Wasn’t me.” Clint says, raising his hands defensively.

“Then who would abandon such a small, helpless creature in the Captain’s quarters?” Thor asks, carefully taking the puppy from Jane. The small puppy looks ridiculously tiny in his massive hands.

“Someone who hates me, I’m guessing.” Tony says, looking entirely unimpressed.

“It was me.” Bruce says, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Bruce, darling, why would you do this to me?” Tony asks, voice going fakely-sweet, again.

“Because you love it.” Bruce says, tonelessly, taking another bite of eggs.

“No, I don’t. See, there’s this thing. I don’t do pets, therefore, no pets in the Tower.” He says, a slight whine entering his tone.

“Aw, why not?” Jane asks.

“Because they destroy everything. They pee all over the floor and shed everywhere. Sorry, nope. It’s gotta go.” Tony says, waving his fork.

Darcy stares at Bruce, then back at the puppy. What the hell? Where the hell would Bruce get a puppy? Someone give it to him or something? Suddenly, a vivid memory of running after a dirty furball and then ditching him on Steve’s floor comes rushing back. Oh god, it was him. No, more like it was _them_.

“C’mon, Tony.” Steve says, picking up two plates and hands one to Jane, now that her hands have been relieved of the puppy. “It’s just a puppy.” Everyone takes their place at the table, Thor still holding the little blonde puppy, feeding it bits of bacon and beaming at it.

“There’s no such thing as ‘just a puppy.’ That’s like saying ‘it’s just a bomb.’” Tony argues, wrinkling his nose in distaste and leaning away from the puppy in Thor’s arms.

“He’s right, you know.” Clint says, pointing his fork at Steve. Steve shoots Clint a look that tells him to clearly shut up. Clint, impressively, doesn’t look intimidated under the gaze of Captain America.

“I’ll take care of it, clean up after it and I take personal responsibility for whatever it does.”  Steve argues.

“And by ‘does,’ you mean, ‘destroys.’ Not good enough.” Tony says, sounding like a petulant child. Darcy watches as he turns to keep arguing with Steve, and she isn’t at all surprised as his expression morphs from annoyed as fuck to completely resigned at the sight of Steve’s own puppy eyes. She’s even less surprised when he instantly folds. “Ugh, fine. But he stays on your floor.”

“Done.” Steve agrees, nodding at Tony and grinning. “I still wanna know where you guys got him.”

“Ugh,” Darcy says, putting her head in her hand, “I saw it outside the building last night and ran _in heels_ to pick it up. I gave it to Bruce and he left it with you.” She explained, rubbing her eyes.

“Aw, who would abandon such a cute little thing?” Jane asks, scratching the puppy behind the ears, who’s wagging his tail and kissing Thor enthusiastically between bacon bites. Darcy’s not sure she’s even seen Thor glow quite like he is now. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he was literally glowing, then she realizes that aura might be her hangover, visually manifested.

“Welcome to New York,” Tony says, taking a swig of his coffee, “People are assholes.”

The table dissolves into white-noise chatter as Darcy shuts her eyes and tries to remember the night before. There were drinks. Lots and lots of those, by the feel of it. And then the cab ride home, which is blurry at best, followed by the puppy. Then what?

She glances over at Bruce who’s chatting away with Tony about something, but it’s technical and Darcy’s brain is still too foggy to understand anything more than the fact nothing they’re saying makes sense.

She remembers the ride up in the elevator and ditching the puppy… changing clothes in Bruce’s immaculate bathroom. Bits and pieces of the evening keep flashing back across her mind and she desperately tries to mentally grab at them. Zombie drinks, stupid frat boy, trying to describe her building, the elevator, changing clothes and…

“Oh, my god.” Darcy suddenly blurts out, loud enough that the rest of the table falls silent, suddenly realizing everyone’s expecting some kind of an explanation, she quickly follows up, lying, “I think I’m gonna be sick.” and rushes off to the bathroom. She shuts the door behind her, but apparently doesn’t lock it, since Natasha quietly steps in a moment later.

“How are you doing?” Natasha says evenly, eyeing Darcy as she sits down next to her on the edge of the bathtub.

“You mean besides the whole almost-kissed-someone-I-definitely-shouldn’t-have-last-night thing?” Darcy asks, borderline hysterically.

“Hm,” Natasha crosses her arms. “Not so sure about the ‘shouldn’t have’ part.”

“What do you mean?” Darcy asks, suspiciously.

“Bruce…” Natasha starts, and then sighs. “Bruce is shy, shy enough that he won’t make the first move. No matter what signals are flashing in his face. When we left last night, I was hoping you would be brave...or even drunk enough... to.”

“So that was a set-up?” Darcy asks, dumbly; and Natasha simply nods.

“Why… why would he make the first move?” Darcy asks, slowly.

“Bruce is quite smitten with you.” Natasha states, bluntly. Her tone leaves no room for doubt or argument, but still, Darcy can’t help her eyes practically bugging out of her head.

“Since when?!” She asks, loud enough that Natasha raising a hand, telling her silently to hush. “Since when?” Darcy asks again, quieter this time.

“Long enough.” Natasha says cryptically, “And I meant it, he won’t make the first move. So unless you like running in circles and playing ‘what if,’ it’s up to you to move things along.

“And, just out of morbid curiosity, how exactly do I go about that?” Darcy asks, hopelessly. How the fuck did Natasha seriously think Darcy could possibly approach Bruce with this?

“The new dog will need to be walked again, after breakfast is cleaned up.” Natasha notes, casually. “Perhaps you could volunteer, and invite Bruce to go along with you.” If Darcy didn’t know better, she’d swear Natasha had casually changed subjects. As it was, she knew better.

“That’s…” Darcy thinks over it for a moment, “not a terrible plan.”

Natasha gives her a small grin. “This situation is not as hopeless as you see it. You just have to stop avoiding it.”

“Easier said than done.” Darcy says, standing up. “Okay, let’s go back out. I can totally do this.”

Natasha reached out and grabbed her arm to stop her from swaying.

Fucking hangovers.

\-------------

She totally can’t do this. Breakfast is over, despite the fact she didn’t consume anything other than coffee; and the kitchen is almost done being cleaned up. Jane let Darcy change into some her clothes she’d left at Thor’s, and she had given Bruce back his, and Darcy has never been so grateful she and Jane wear the same shoe size.

Now would be the opportune moment to offer to walk the puppy, that Thor still hasn’t put down; despite Tony and Clint’s demand to ‘put the damn thing down and help clean,’ but she can’t summon up the courage to actually do it.

“Darcy,” Clint says, looking up from the sink of dishwater he’s draining, now that dishes are done, “Why don’t you take the puppy for a walk, if you can pry it out of Thor’s hands?”

“Why would I do that?” She asks, narrowing her eyes at him. She catches the knowing grin he shoots at her.

“Some fresh air might do you good.” He says, innocently, “Take Bruce with you, he could use the time outside, too.” Darcy didn’t know if she should punch him in the neck for his oh-so-casual tone, or just marvel in the mild creepiness and wonder that is ClintandNatasha. She glances over at Bruce who’s wiping down the counters. He shrugs and gives a little nod of agreement, and how dare he act like everything’s normal.

“Yeah, sure.” She replies slowly, side-eyeing him as she picks up the bright orange leash.

\------

“Wanna head down to Central Park?” He asks, as they step out of the building and into the crisp autumn air. Darcy’s flinches in the sunlight, but nods, and slips on a pair of sunglasses. The puppy immediately starts sniffing around on the ground, barely noticing anyone else’s existence, except to attempt to sniff their shoes as they walk past.

They start walking in relatively comfortable silence, until they reached a small coffee shop Darcy is amazed hasn’t died in the face of Starbucks, a small trickle of people going in and out. The building looks small and clean and she’s willing to bet Bruce is a regular here.

Darcy raises an eyebrow at Bruce when they stop and he hands her the leash. “What’re we doing?” She asks, suspiciously, but he just grins.

“ _We_ are not doing anything.” He says, and she’s a little miffed at the mischievous tone he says it with, “ _You_ are waiting here with this little guy and _I’ll_ be right back.”

She takes the leash and crosses her arms, trying to fight back the smirk of curiosity. “Alright.” She agrees, adjusting her sunglasses and taking the leash, and he goes in.

She stands outside the coffee-shop for a while, most people ignoring her, a few children and a couple of college students enthusiastically gushing over the puppy. The questions repeat, despite the relatively short amount of time.

No, she’s not sure what breed it is; no, it doesn’t have a name yet; yes, you’re right, sorry, _he_ doesn’t have a name yet. She’s pretty sure a few people think she stole it or something, but frankly, her head still hurt and she was five minutes away from puking, so fuck them.

Bruce finally re-appears with two cups, keeping one and trading the other for the leash.

“What is it?” She asks, warily, eyeing the cup. Somehow she knows this isn’t plain, black coffee she’s being handed.

“A surprise.” Bruce replies as they continue walking, and sipping his own. She holds the mystery drink up to her nose and the smell is so strong it feels like a slap to the face.

“Well,” She says, pulling the cup away from her nose quickly, unable to help the startled laugh that escapes her, “I’m pretty damn sure there’s peppermint in that cup. Peppermint coffee, really?”

Bruce grins, and shakes his head. “Peppermint tea.”

“May I assume your cup has actual coffee in it?” She asks and he nods, “So then may I ask why you decided to punish me?” She teases before the thought crosses her mind that maybe he did mean it as punishment of some kind. Revenge for her behavior the night before.

“I didn’t decide to punish you.” He defends, “Peppermint is good for nausea, and headaches, so it should help clear up that last bit of your hangover. More caffeine really won’t help you.”

“Oh.” She says, and damn. No one’s ever given a shit about her hangovers before, unless it was to tell her to shut up about them. She wishes Bruce would make it harder to like him. She drinks the potent concoction, tasting honey and something else; half out of etiquette, half out of desperation for a cure.

They walk for while, Bruce talking evenly about the team; watching movies with Steve, teaching Thor human customs and how he’s pretty sure he’s reached a truce with Natasha.

She doesn’t input much, her headache finally backing off shortly after they reach the park. The puppy sniffs around excitedly, apparently much happier in the city with a full belly and a couple of guardians.

“You know, he’s eventually gonna need a name.” Bruce says, as they sit down on a bench, “and I still don’t think ‘douche-canoe’ is gonna cut it.”

“Probably not, no.” Darcy agrees, mock-seriously. “Give Steve time. He’ll come up with something.”

“Let’s just hope he doesn’t let Tony have a say.”

“Oh God, no,” Darcy cringes. “We don’t need a dog named Iron Pup.”

A beat passes.

“You know, for someone I drunkenly tried to make out with, you’re pretty casual about hanging out with me.” She says, because hell, she’s gotta say something. They can’t keep ignoring this forever.

Bruce doesn’t look at her, watches the puppy destroy a dead leaf on the sidewalk, but he smirks a little “You do remember.”’

“Uh, yeah.” Darcy confirms, knocking her knee against his. “You could’ve told me about it, by the way.”

“No point.” He replies, tugging on the leash when the puppy tries to grab a piece of candy out of the hand of a passing little boy. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it, so there wasn’t any point in drawing attention to it. Best to just let it go.”

Darcy stares, stunned. “Well, that’s not fair.” She blurts out, startling herself and glancing down at her cup, wondering if there’s a couple shots of rum in the tea, cause she doesn’t remember deciding to say that.

“What?” Bruce says, finally looking at her. And there’s something in his eyes. Some expression, some emotion she can’t peg down, that makes her feel light-headed and she knows if she doesn’t speak now, she’ll never say what she means. She’ll retreat back and this whole thing will blow over without Bruce ever really knowing.

“I meant it.” She admits, and, on second thought, oh dear Jesus, she’s a moron.

“You… meant it.” Bruce repeats slowly, and Darcy bites her lip as she nods.

“Yeah.” She says, voice barely over a whisper, and she can see out the corner of her eye, the puppy pulling on the leash, attempting to chase something, a bird or another dog; but Bruce doesn’t pay any attention. Just keeps his inscrutable gaze locked on her.

“Why?” He finally asks, and she was not prepared for this at all. She never thought she’d be saying this to Bruce period, let alone on some cold, autumn morning, drinking weird tea and walking a puppy. Well, in for a penny...

“Because I’ve wanted to for a long time.” She finally breaks down. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I first met you, cause you’re like, fricking adorable with your curls and everything. And I thought if I ignored it, it would go away; but it didn’t, it got worse. And you don’t have to like me, or want me to kiss you, that’s… that’s your deal. But don’t think I didn’t mean what I did last night, okay? If I’m gonna get drunk and act stupid, I want credit for the things I finally have the balls to do.”

Bruce looks nothing short of stunned at her words and she knows the feeling. She’s acutely aware of how short of breath she is after that little speech, her breathing coming hard, and the cold autumn air aching in her lungs, but she forces herself to stay calm.

Bruce blinks a couple of time, and turns his attention back to the puppy. He watches the small pup dig at the edge of the sidewalk for a few minutes before he tugs on the leash a couple times and stands up. “C’mon, let’s go back. I told Tony I’d meet him up in his lab for some tests.”

Darcy stares blankly, but she’s so taken aback by his completely devoid response, she just stammers out an “Um, o-okay.” and stands up to follow.

The walk back might just be most awkward silence Darcy has ever experienced.


	2. Chapter Two

Darcy is 100% sure this is  the most awkward silence she’s ever experienced. And, for the record, she’s including when her older sister’s best friend talked about her back alley abortion at the dinner table that one time. Frankly, she’s kind of impressed. She really didn’t think anyone or anything could ever beat that fiasco.   
  
But Bruce Banner has managed to surprise her once more. She keeps trying to find something to say, but all her ideas seem stupid as soon as she attempts to actually say them and so they just sort of die in her throat. She couldn’t even bear to do more than glance at him as they walked. Instead, she focused her eyes on the puppy still happily oblivious to anything that wasn’t awesome side-walk smells. She wishes her life was that simple. Stupid nameless dog.

When they finally get back to the Tower, Bruce hits the elevator button for his floor after Darcy hits hers. She knows, logically, that Tony’s lab is a few floors below Steve’s apartment, which is where she’s going with the dog, and where Steve, Jane and Thor should be, but she still feels like Bruce hit the lower number just to get away from her faster. Logically, it shouldn’t hurt, but it does.

When the elevator gets to his floor, he hands her the leash and departs with little more than a muttered ‘bye’ and wave. She reaches down to pick the pup off the floor as the elevator closes and begins rising again. “I really fucked up, huh?” She asks him as he wiggles in her arms. “Yeah, let’s go hang out with Jane and see what we can ruin next, what’d’ya think of that? You nameless little furball.” She rubs her face against the puppy’s neck, and when Steve asks, she tells him she got dog fur in her eyes. No, she hasn’t been crying. Really, it’s okay.

 

\------

 

It’s pretty obvious to see the pattern that develops over the next few days. Darcy’s not great at a lot of things, but noticing what hot guys do around her? She’s _very_ good at that particular skill. When it’s the hot guy she’s been infatuated with for months that she’s recently admitting her feelings for? She not only notices, she gets annoyed when she realizes he’s avoiding her. Well, annoyed isn’t the right word. Depressed and hopeless would be better.

It doesn’t actually start until a few days after The Confession, and yes, that totally deserves capital letters, shut up. She’s sworn to Jane that she’ll return the hoodie she stole from Steve. (again, shut up, she was cold, and Steve has a really awesome knack for picking out _really_ soft clothes. It’s really awesome because it makes hugging him even _more_ awesome, and Steve hugs people a lot. And besides, if he doesn’t want them stolen, he should hide them better. His closet’s a rather obvious place for clothing.) She steps off the elevator, hoodie in hand, to find Steve, Clint and Bruce watching ‘The Wolf of Wall Street’ in his living room.

She walks up to Steve, who’s sprawled out in the armchair, looking every inch the casual hottie frat boy he _definitely_ should’ve been, and holds the dark red hoodie out to him.

“I stole this.” She says bluntly, and he grins as he takes it and drapes it over the back of the chair.

“I know.” is his only reply. She shrugs, because he sounds more accepting than angry, so an apology probably isn’t necessary.

“How come you never steal my hoodies?” Clint mock-accuses, with a fake look of hurt from his seat on the floor, “Only Captain America’s are good enough for you?”

“I don’t steal yours because they smell like old sweatsocks and regret. Steve, on the other hand, actually bathes at regular intervals.” She says, raising an eyebrow in defiance. Clint just raises his beer to her and laughs good-naturedly, along with Steve, and Bruce who’s pretending not to.

She’s about to apologize anyway, though, ‘cause it’s _Steve_ and he’s the only person she’s ever known who lets friends’ girlfriends rifle through his closet in search of cushy hoodies. He should get props for that. He cuts her off though, gesturing to the couch,  “Hey, have a seat, the movie just started.”

She can’t help but smirk at him. Steal his hoodie, he gives you a movie invite. She knew she liked him. She glances over at Bruce on the couch, studiously ignoring her, instead enthralled with the TV, and shrugs again.

“Sure. I’ll go pop some popcorn.” She says easily, heading to the kitchen. When she gets back, Bruce is gone. She wants to ask, but something tells her that she’ll just get an excuse, ‘something something _lab_ something.’ Which might just be true. It’s entirely plausible. It’s probably not though, and she knows it. She sits down next to Clint, who’s picked himself off the floor, and tries to muster up the attitude to tease Steve about watching a movie that basically starts with Leonardo DiCaprio snorting coke off a hooker’s ass, but she’s got nothing.

Except a sense of dread in her stomach.

 

\---

 

The second time it happens, it’s not as subtle and not as easily excusable.   
  
She realized there was a decent chance Tony wouldn’t be alone in his lab. He and Bruce often ended up sharing labs for hours at a time consulting one another whenever possible, both basking in the joy of being around another complete brainiac. So she knew when she volunteered to help Pepper out and run some paperwork down to Tony’s lab that there was a chance she’d run into Bruce.

She’s not sure if she’s excited about the possibility of seeing him, or nervous. All she knows is she can feel her heart beating hard in her chest and she can’t stop biting at her lip.

And she was right, Bruce standing at a holographic display next to Tony, and their both flipping around what looks like molecules of some kind, enlarging a few and tossing a few away in a holographic trash can. She’s not even going to pretend she understand what they’re talking about, but she _is_ going to pretend that she doesn’t notice how Bruce stops talking as soon as he catches glimpse of her. She strides forward, coming to stand across from Tony at the table and holds out the papers.

“For you, from boss-lady.” She says, and Tony doesn’t move a muscle. At first, she thinks the flat, unaffected look he’s giving her is annoyance about the fact the folder she’s holding is currently cutting through a display of molecules arranged and connected in what looks like a fucked up ferris wheel. The she remembers this is Tony. _Eccentric._

She rolls her eyes, and drops the folder on the display without flourish. Tony nods his approval and picks it up, opening it and scanning the first page.

“How is that I made Pepper the CEO, and yet somehow there’s still massive amounts of paperwork for me to do, _all the time?_ ” Tony asks, and Darcy smirks at Bruce at Tony’s almost-whine. Bruce makes eye contact, but then quickly looks away.

“I dunno, dude.” She says, pretending her sigh of frustration is aimed at Tony and not Bruce, “I just volunteered to be the messenger.”

“Hey, I’m gonna go check on some projects.” He says to Tony, completely ignoring Darcy’s presence. “I’ll be back in a while.” Tony dismisses him with a nod and a vague wave of his hand. Bruce doesn’t even glance at Darcy as he quickly makes his way to the elevator.

“You know,” She says with a scowl, “I’m starting to get the idea he really doesn’t want to be around me.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, not looking up from the papers, still reading through intently, “I know he doesn’t.”

Darcy’s gaze snaps away from the hologram she’s spinning around lazily on her fingertips and she stares at him. “Why- why would you say that?” She asks, faux casual.

“Mainly because he has no other projects _to_ go work on.” He says, glancing up from the papers to give her a pointed, halfway amused stare. “You did something. What was it?” He asks, knowingly.

Darcy groans at the confirmation Bruce really is avoid her and, she really, really wants to say she didn’t do anything, but it’s a lie and she knows Tony would know. She’s always been a shit liar. “I may have… admitted to having certain feelings…” She says slowly.

“For our resident Green Wonder?” Tony asks, closing the folder and, fuck, if he actually didn’t look slightly sympathetic. She just nods. “Well, I really wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

“To be fair, you don’t worry too much about a lot of things.” She points out, and he shoots her a self-satisfied smirk.

“True,” He concedes, flipping a molecular structure around in his hands, “But Bruce isn’t exactly… smooth with women. Trust me. I’ve seen him flirt. If you could call what he did flirting.”

“What did he do?” She can’t help but ask, curious.

“Many things.” Tony says, vaguely. “All of it can be summed up in one word: Awkward. So, no, him being weird with someone confessing smooshy feelings. Not a surprise.”

“Yeah,” Darcy asks, “But is it awkward because he likes me, too, or is it awkward because he’s too polite to tell me to fuck off?” She can tell by the unsure way Tony glances at her from the display, he doesn’t know either.

Well, fuck.

 

\----

 

Natasha pulls her aside a few nights later. Bruce active avoided her over the past few days, ducking out of rooms within minutes of her coming in, regardless of what he’s doing when she arrives. It was blatantly obvious, to everyone who wasn’t braindead, when she and Jane showed up earlier in evening to help destroy the massive amount of Chinese food Steve and Clint ordered, that Bruce didn’t actually remember a project he’d need to attend to.   
  
No one said anything, but she felt everyone at least glance at her as she studied the shrimp fried rice in front of her. Fortunately, between Tony’s charm, Thor’s obliviousness to awkwardness, and Steve’s determination to make everyone comfortable, the discomfort of the situation didn’t last long.

Natasha pulls her aside later on when the containers have been cleaned up, and everyone is lying around the living room arguing about Netflix.

She’s on her way from the bathroom when a tight grip pulls her into Steve’s bedroom, giving her no choice but to comply.

She steps into the room, shutting the door behind her. Regardless of the fact Natasha is staring at her like an ancient Chinese puzzle she can’t quite figure out, she can’t help but be impressed. For a dude, Steve’s room is always so fucking organized. It’s a little disgusting. She doesn’t get a chance to marvel for long before Natasha speaks.

“What happened?”

Darcy looks at Natasha, knowing exactly what she’s talking about, and suddenly remembers that this all started on her suggestion. She can’t help the flare of annoyance that blooms in her chest. “ _You_ did.” She says, glaring.

“Excuse me?” Natasha asks, unimpressed.

“ _You_ were the one who told me Bruce liked me, he was just too chicken to do anything about it.” Darcy accused, “Well, guess what? I told him.” She spreads her arms dramatically, “And _here we are!_ ” The sarcasm in her voice is thick, but Natasha doesn’t look annoyed, or even affected by it in any way.

She just looks deeply unimpressed. “He likes you.” She says, authoritatively.

“Really?” Darcy asks, flatly, still glaring at Natasha. “Well, when you can get _him_ to say that, I’ll believe it. Until then, you’re wrong.”

She turns to grab the door handle, but before she can Natasha reaches out and stops her with a hand on her arm. “Darcy, I know people. My entire line of work is _knowing_ people. I know Bruce, and I know how Bruce feels about you.”

“Are you _a hundred percent_ sure about that? No offense, but...” Darcy says, annoyance fading, and sullen depression creeping back in.

“JARVIS.” Natasha says suddenly, “Recite typical, subconscious changes in Bruce’s physiology when Darcy entered a room he was in, prior to three days ago.” It takes Darcy a second to realize she’s not counting the awkward, avoidance times.

JARVIS instantly starts listing; “Doctor Banner’s pupil size increased by 13%. Heart rate increased 18%. Respirations increased 15%. Body temperature raised by point-three degrees Fahrenheit.”

Natasha looks positively vindicated, but Darcy can’t afford to be so easily swayed. “That just means he had a reaction to my presence.” Darcy points out. “Not necessarily a _positive_ reaction.”

“JARVIS,” Natasha says smoothly, not taking her eyes off Darcy, “Same information, except this time, Tony’s reaction to Steve.”

“Sir’s pupil size increases by 17%. Heart rate increases 15%. Respirations increase 12%. Body temperature raises point-four degrees Fahrenheit.”

Natasha raises a single eyebrow.

“Fair enough.” Darcy concedes. _Everyone_ knows how positive Tony is about Steve’s presence. 

 

\---

 

Bruce ducks out of going with Steve on a walk with “Sarge” (and, dear god, isn’t that just a name a boy would give a cute little dog?) down to Central Park, when he finds out Darcy is going along. He manages to leave before Darcy gets there, but she can tell from Steve’s expression, there was no actual emergency in Tony’s lab. She may be pathetic right now, but she’s not stupid.

She’s halfway tempted to tell Steve to go alone but then he makes those damn puppy eyes, and fuck her inability to say ‘no’ to hot boys.

They’re two blocks from the Tower in companionable silence before Steve finally speaks up.

“I know it’s none of my business, but what’s the deal with you and Banner?” He asks, and Darcy appreciates the approach. Respectful but direct. She knows she could tell him to fuck off right now and he’d laugh it off, but…

“I kinda made a mistake, and now I’m paying for it.” She says, picking at the edges of her chipped purple nail polish as they walk.

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Gonna tell me more?” He asks, tugging Sarge away from a toddler, who looks a little intimidated by Sarge’s energy, standing with his mom.

“I kinda told him how I felt about him, and he kinda didn’t take it as well as I was hoping, and now I don’t know what to do. He’s avoiding me like I have the plague, but Natasha keeps insisting that he feels the same way about me, and it feels like no matter what I do now, I’m going to fuck things up. Even more than they already are.” She punctuates the end of her rant with a weak punch to a nearby street sign. Steve huffs a laugh.

“I don’t know,” He says, amicably, “I’m not going to venture a guess at how Bruce feels. I tried giving advice to Thor about Jane once, and that… did not end well.”

“Oh god.” Darcy raises an eyebrow. She remembers once, a few weeks back, that Jane was so furious she refused to speak to Thor for three weeks, and Darcy’s never found out what happened. It’s hilarious to think Steve might actually have knowledge of what happened, and was possibly responsible for that fiasco.

“Yeah. Anyway.” He says, “This seems a little easier.”

“How so?” Darcy asks, open to any advice.

“Well, the problem is, essentially, you don’t know how Bruce feels, right?” Steve asks raising an open hand in question at her.

“Yeah, basically.” She confirms, and he shrugs, letting his hand drop.

“Then corner him, and talk to him.”

“But what if I-”

“Darcy.” Steve says, in that Captain America tone that makes everyone shut up and listen. “If you don’t ask, the answer’s always ‘no.’ If you talk to Bruce, there’s a chance he feels like you do, and everything will be fine. If you talk to him, and he doesn’t feel the same… could it really be any worse than where it is now?”

Darcy’s silent for a long moment, watching Sarge chew on Steve’s shoe laces as they wait for the traffic light to turn green.

“Stupid superheroes and their stupid superhero insight.” She finally mutters. Steve just smiles that mega-watt smile.

 

\-------

 

She’s in the living room of Thor’s floor, with him, Jane, and Clint, introducing Thor to Cards Against Humanity, and having to explain why the fact the cards are offensive is why they’re funny, when Tony steps in with Bruce. Bruce takes one look at Darcy and immediately excuses himself. He doesn’t quite make it to the door before Darcy blurts out, “Did I ruin our entire friendship, or just the parts I cared about?”

For about two seconds, everyone is completely still, even Tony’s frozen with his phone in his hand, mid-text. Suddenly,  Darcy realizes this probably isn’t what Steve meant when he said “corner Bruce.” Another second goes by before Tony gives an awkward cough and finally puts her out of her misery.

“Hey, guys, who wants go down to my lab and see a bunch of shit I’m just making up so we can get the fuck out of here?” In any other situation, Darcy would’ve laughed her ass off, but she’s nothing more than pathetically grateful when everyone enthusiastically agrees (except for Thor, who’s confused, but easily goes along with a little prompting from Jane). Bruce moves like he’s going to leave as well, but Tony turns him around and shoves him back in Darcy’s direction. She’s not sure if she’s grateful or not.

Everyone finally files out of the room, leaving them alone, and the silence is freakishly awkward, and so thick you could cut it with a knife. Darcy hates her life.

“So?” Darcy finally asks, expectantly. Might as well just go for it.

“So what?” He asks, evenly, and she’s almost tempted to slap him in the face for playing stupid.

“So, did I ruin our friendship, or…?” She trails off sullenly, raising an eyebrow.

“You didn’t ruin anything.” He says, easily, like everything is completely normal and they’re discussing the freaking weather. He slowly crosses his arms in front of himself.

“Yeah, sure.” Darcy scoffs, “That why you can’t stand to be in the same room as me for more than about two minutes. _‘Cause everything totally cool._ ”

It’s silent for a long moment.

“You know,” She says, picking herself up off her spot on the floor and sitting down on the couch, “The crazy thing was, I didn’t realize how much time we spent together until we didn’t. I mean, yeah, there was almost always other people around, but we were actually pretty good friends. Until I fucked it up.”

Bruce sighs, “You didn’t ruin anything.” He repeats, and Darcy is amazed at how fucking genuine he sounds about it.

“Then explain what’s going on.” She challenges, sitting back, and crossing her arms over her chest. “I cannot wait to hear this. I tell you I’m in love with you, and suddenly you can’t stand to be near me, but somehow, I didn’t ruin anything. Go.”

Bruce just stares at her. “That is _not_ what you said.” He says, narrowing his eyes at her, almost accusingly.

“Yes, it is.” She says, because _of course_ that’s what she said. That’s why he’s so freaked out. What else could she have said? 

“No,” He corrects, raising a hand and pointing a finger at her, “All you said was you meant to kiss me.”

“Yeah, cause I’m in love with you.” She says, like it’s obvious. “What else would I mean by that?”

“That you’d like to get into my pants?” Bruce asks, irritably, and Darcy is completely blind-sided, “And since I’m not really in a position to… do that kind of thing, I thought it would be best if we stayed away from each other until you got over it and moved on.”

“You thought…” Darcy stops and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Oh, god.”

A moment of silence passes.

“You thought I was just a horny little fangirl with a crush, and you wanted to wait until I got my hormones in check to be around me.” Darcy says, and she’s torn between laughing hysterically and curling into a ball of utter mortification. “That is so my luck.”

“No,” Bruce says, calmly, coming to sit down next to her, “I think you’re an intelligent, beautiful woman who’s confident enough to know what she wants, and I think I was intimidated by the idea I might not be able to be that for you, so I was _trying_ to do the cowardly thing and hide until you forgot about me.”

Darcy just stares. “Tony said you were awkward with women. He lied.”

Bruce smiles, ruefully, “No, he didn’t. I’m usually a wreck.”

A long moment of silence stretches out. “So, now what?” She asks, tucking her hair behind her ear and she can’t help but feel hopeful at what he might say.

“What, now that I know-?” He asks, pursing his lips thoughtfully.

“That my desire to get in your pants has a deeper motive, yeah.” She says.

“Honestly, I’m not sure if this is better than what I originally thought, or worse.” He admits with a long sigh, running a hand through his curls, and Dear God, would she love permission to do that. She tries not to stare.

“What, why?” She asks, and then it hits her, “You don’t... want me, do you?”

“I never said that.” He says, catching her gaze.

“So, you want me like I want you?” She asks, trying to get this all straight in her head, and she swears, in some ways, him avoiding her was easier. This is just confusing.

“I want you, yes.” He says, slowly.

“I can hear the ‘but,’ dude.” She says, feeling a little forlorn.

“This could be such a bad idea.” He says, sounding tired and defeated. She takes his hand in hers and intertwines their fingers.

“Whether you want me or not, you’re gonna have to talk to me now,” She says, and he grins slightly at her as he grips her hand back. “What’s so bad?”  

“Uh, where do you want me to start?” He raises an eyebrow, and she raises her chin defiantly.

“If the next words out of your mouth are ‘other guy,’ I get to slap you across the face.” She warns.

“And why is that not a legitimate reason?” He questions, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb.

“Because, I already know full well about him, and I’m obviously okay with it, so it’s not an excuse.”

“Just because you’re okay with it doesn’t mean I am.” He points out and she shrugs a shoulder, “There’s also the age difference.”

“Doesn’t count.” She dismisses, waving the hand that’s free.

“Why not?” He asks, and he looks at her like she’s an annoying little treasure.

“I already know about that, too.” She grins, “Again, totally okay with it.” She’s feeling pretty damn good right now, because as he’s been talking, he’s been subconsciously moving closer to her and they’re almost pressed alongside one another now. As far as she’s concerned, she’s already won.

“Darcy.” He says, letting go of her hand to rub his eyes with the heels of his hands, “There’s a lot to this relationship you haven’t thought about.”

“All I’m hearing is you saying there’s a relationship.” She says, still grinning.

“ _Potentially_.” He corrects. A moment of silence passes.

“So, what now?” She asks.

“Now," He says with a long, drawn out sigh, "We both take some time, and really think about this. There’s a lot to consider before we jump into anything.”

“Yeah…” Darcy says, “Or more accurately, _you’re_ going to take some time, and really think about this and _I’ll_ be here when you finally realize it’s okay.”

“Probably, yeah.” Bruce concedes, with small, crooked grin. “Is that okay?”

“Are you gonna keep treating me like a leper?” She asks, smiling. He grins and shakes his head, just enough to make his curls bounce a little, and she decides to be brave and take a chance, lifting her hand up to run her fingers through them. She’s thrilled when he just closes his eyes and leans into the touch.

“Then, yeah, take your time.” She says, then quickly amends, “On one condition.” Her hand drops from his hair, and Bruce opens his eyes to raise an eyebrow in question. She takes a breath and remembers what Steve said before, ‘if you never ask, the answer’s always ‘no.’’ “Can I at least have a freaking kiss before you go brood?”

Bruce breaks into a brilliant smile, aimed right at her, and suddenly the past week of question and torture was totally worth it.

It just might be the best kiss of her life. 


End file.
